


Somewhere Between

by KillerGal



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerGal/pseuds/KillerGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between the lines of platonic conversations and heartfelt confessions, a connection is formed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Between

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17  
> Genre: hurt/comfort  
> Word Count: 2k  
> Pairing: Kris x Lu Han  
> A/N: wrote this a while back but didn't upload because i couldn't think of a damn title.  
> Warning: almost irrelevant title, mentions of rape, sexual abuse and several illegal activities, unbeta'd shit

"Don't you ever get so sick of it all and just want to cheapen yourself all the way? It's like hey, I'm already cheap, might as well be cheap all the way. Aye look here, free slut to fuck!"

Sometimes seeing these kids who are forced to grow up way too quickly, kids that have no choice but to be strong because it's the only way they can survive...breaks my heart.

I light my cigarette, watching as the small flame slowly diminishes, burning into the poison.

I put it out on my hand. There are already lots of burn marks so I don't really care. It's like a collection of burn marks.

I do not say a word, simply putting a hand on his shoulder and hoping it would convey all that I'm trying to say.

_I'm here._

He sighs and suddenly he looks so damn old, unlike how a twenty year old should ever look like. His doe eyes don't reflect the innocence it should have. They're filled with weariness, and this tinge of inexplicable sadness. He's tired, I can tell, tired of this world, tired of being taken advantage of, tired of his past haunting him and chaining him, and just tired of everything. Stuck in the doldrums for years, it is a wonder Lu Han is even alive.

But he smiles anyway, and it breaks my heart into pieces, as much as I'd like to deny that and maintain the emotionless facade I've built for myself over the years.

Lu Han is hard to define and cannot simply be defined by words. If you are to ask him, he’ll probably say that he is defined by a series of numbers.

24-29-85-13 -61-11

Number of times he murdered, dealt with drugs, collected protection fees, conned someone into believing he loved her, simply having conned another human, led a fight for territory. The numbers frequently change, but his thought never does.

“It’s better to define yourself as something that constantly changes, instead of something stagnant, isn’t it? Humans frequently change, don’t they?” Then Lu Han, I had wanted to ask, why don’t your thoughts ever change? But I didn’t. In fact, I never did, and probably never will.

I vividly remember the day I first saw him. Lanky teenager all bloodied and beaten, a shirt two sizes too big, black baggy pants. In those eyes of his, was the undeniable pain of someone who has held it in for too long. But in them, was also this intense gaze - the will to survive, the determination to live on. He wants to take control of all this fucking bullshit and drive them to death. He wants to win his own battles. He is strong, I could tell, strong even though he is battered. A strange sense of pride swelled within me and... Perhaps that was why I chose to save him but maybe I didn't try hard enough, because the young adult in front of me dressed in ripped jeans and a black shirt, with honey brown hair, still looks as broken as he did before. I used to think time healed all wounds, but maybe some wounds can never be healed. It's too deep, perhaps. Maybe like cancer, it mostly stems from within you (and with a touch of external factors). And that just makes everything worse and more complicated, because are you supposed to eliminate yourself? They always teach us to destroy what kills you but in Lu Han's case, how can you destroy what kills you without ceasing to exist yourself?

Lu Han snatches the cigarette out of my grasp, folding it into half and stuffing it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. The flame has been put out, so I doubt it hurt, but his heart seems to be hurting when I see tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm so sick of this, you know." He chokes out. His voice is muffled and the cigarette is still in his mouth, now hanging limply between his teeth, a crumpled piece of wet mess, not at all unlike himself.

"I didn't ask to be raped... I didn't ask to be sexually abused by my own family... I didn't ask for this, I didn't ask for that, I didn't ask for any of these... I..." He doesn't complete his sentence. The words fall midway, hangs in the still air - we fall into a silence until he continues with what sounds like a choked breath and a sigh of resignation.

"So, is this how I'm going to live the rest of my life? Constantly haunted by my past, unable to run away from it no matter how hard I try." I do not reply. It's not like he needed one. In fact, he may even be disappointed by my reply. Often, we cry our hearts out to others for affirmation that they are there for us, not for any useless piece of advice that they're going to give us and we pretend to be thankful for some rotten advice that we probably wouldn't even use. We just want the delusion of knowing that someone is there for us, and at that very moment, perhaps we are less alone.

"Sometimes," he starts out and his voice is rough and coarse, "I wonder if constantly running away from enemies is actually just a shadow of me running away from my past." He pauses, and asks me for a cigarette. I give him one.

"It could be, you know." He says, borrowing my lighter and lighting up that nicotine filled shit, "but then again, I'm not a psychologist and this is just some shitty theory I came up with when I was bored out of my wits."

When Lu Han says he's bored, he probably means having time to recall how fucked up he truly is. Maybe that is why he bites off more than he can chew; taking on several jobs, coming home in the wee hours when both his mind and body are thoroughly exhausted (he can no longer think straight), then he sleeps and wakes up, and the cycle repeats. Once in a blue moon, when there are no more drugs left for him to deliver and no more men to be killed, he drowns his sorrows in alcohol. He just doesn't want to have the time to think because once he does, his thoughts are always about the same things.

The thing about Lu Han is that he never does things the normal way. Maybe it's because he's fucked up in the head, or in the heart - it doesn't matter; either way, he's fucked up.

Folding the lit cigarette into half, not caring if it burns his finger, he stuffs it into his mouth, now chewing two cigarettes. It must burn, it should burn, but I'm not sure if Lu Han can feel it anymore when he has already numbed himself to this extent. These are the times where I wonder if Lu Han is hurting himself physically just to numb his emotions and suppress his pain.

"Sometimes, you seem really weird, you know?" I realize how hoarse I sound from not speaking for so long.

"I know, and you deviate towards weird things don't you?" His lips curl up into what seems like a smirk, but it's so forced it almost seems detestable, or even - dare I say - disgusting.

"No, I don't," I reply, staring straight into his dark orbs, "I deviate towards the broken." He doesn't reply, instead, turns around with a derisive laughter. Hands clasped over his mouth, he bursts into a series of forced, contemptuous laughter that soon fades into pathetic whimpers. I don't know if he's crying because he's covering his face, but I hear sniffles and heavy breathing.

Somewhere between the screeching tires and rude blares of horns, I hear a muffled voice, "which is precisely why we're here now, together."

There are times when I really do not know what to think of Lu Han and me. Are we business partners, drinking buddies, or do I perhaps, treat him as a younger brother? But most of the time, I think of us as two lone wolves, two cynical men, seeking the solace that this world cannot provide us, in each other.

For a guy, Lu Han is really pretty, and perhaps that explains the series of unfortunate events that happened to him. Somehow it even manages to make a pragmatic man like me feel obliged to protect him.

Recently, there's been lesser need to though. This chap has been training even more vigorously. The helpless teenager from four years ago, with protruding rib cage, hip bones and wrist bones, has turned into a physically stronger yet mentally weaker man. He's physically stronger; probably can take down twenty fiends at once but it doesn't make him any less weak mentally. The pressure to protect himself from any external pain, and numb himself from his internal pain, has ultimately taken a toll on his mental health. It is safe to say that this guy is fucked up everywhere, in the ass, in the head, and if he even has one left - in his heart.

I wouldn't be surprised if you ever tell me the guy sitting beside me is a masochist. He tries to help people like him, pats them on the back and tells them it isn't their fault and that they have to be strong. He then swiftly turns around and beat himself up over whatever the hell happened to him, get into fights, drink himself into a waste, even going as far as soliciting customers.

"I can't take the pain anymore," he'd always say, "and I thought that perhaps, if I go all out, the pain may decrease."

"Idiot, it'd only magnify the god damn pain," I'd always say but that'd never stop the cycle from repeating.

It's okay though, I was always there to knock some sense into that thick skull of his and bring him back to the safe path, which is an irony. I almost let out a bitter laugh at that very thought. Lu Han momentarily glances at me in concern, and I smile, like I always do. Is there even a safe route in a life like ours? Perhaps, the route we consider safe is different from society's definition of safe. Maybe the only route safe enough for us to take is one that ignores all emotions and suppresses all our memories. Memories are what weaken humans anyway. We don't look back. We live in the present, and look forward to a bleak future because nothing can get darker than this.

We lived our lives aimlessly, getting into petty fights, collecting protection fee, smoking cigarettes, drinking cheap beer; it was a silent fact that we both had no particular goals or motivations to live life.

“I’m going back to the apartment, want to come?” He asks. I nod along, he means for me to go over to his house. Lu Han never ever calls it home though, and I do not blame him because I’d hate to call that kind of place home too.

The apartment to Lu Han is both a solace and a nightmare. Times where he is too tired to even think, it’s a sanctuary; an escape from both his inner world, and the outer world of harsh realities and cruel truths. During the times where Lu Han is refused any work (which isn’t often), the dingy apartment is a living nightmare with arms clawing at his throat. One thing for sure is that whether Lu Han is assigned work or not, the emptiness in his heart always remains. Most of the time, his apartment is made up of overturned tables and broken glasses; somewhere between a place to live in and a prison that cages both his soul and mind.

"Hey, I got a new tattoo. It's a Borneo Scorpio and represents protection." I say, pulling up my sleeve.

"Looks pretty good, I might get one too, though I'm not really into this shits." He grins, tracing a finger over my tattoo. The cigarettes are no longer in his mouth, and I don't know why but it makes me smile anyway. "What's the purpose of inking your own body?" "I don't know," I reply honestly, "it's my body and I'll do whatever the fuck I want with it."

"Sassy." His voice is teasing and his smile doesn't seem as forced.

Somewhere between the lines of platonic conversations and heartfelt confessions, a connection is formed.


End file.
